Sunday,
1 March 1807,
cont.
THE BOSUN'S MATE HAD ONLY TO COMPREHEND WHAT was wanted, to devise a suitable plan.
“Yon Frenchman is not fit to take the mail to London,” he decided. “He's as weak as a newborn lamb, and that's a fact. And though he speaks the King's English to admiration, he's not without the sound of foreign parts; there'd be those as were curious how a Frenchie came to travel our roads as free as a lord.”
“A private hack might answer,” said Frank impatiently.
“—but for the powers of Sir Francis,” persisted Jeb Hawkins. “That roguish gentleman has only to learn of the Captain's hiring a conveyance at the Dolphin, to have the chaise followed and waylaid on the road.”
“But he shall believe Monsieur LaForge is dead,” I pointed out.
“He'll hear as much,” said Hawkins grimly, “but don't you be certain, ma'am, as he'll believe the same, without the sight of the corpus in his own eyes. If you wish to safeguard the mon-sewer's life, you could do worse than to trust Giles Sawyer.”
“Giles Sawyer?” said my brother blankly.
“He's a coffin-builder in the town, Cap'n, and a rare mate o' mine. He'd be sailing with the Hearts of Oak still, if it weren't for Boney having taken off his leg. Giles'd be agreeable, I reckon, to shifting the Frenchie in his cart to London — and if the mon-sewer don't mind a bit of confinement, and travel by the slow road, he might rest secure until Kingdom Come.”
“Not quite so far, I beg of you,” said Etienne LaForge; but there was laughter behind his words. “First you would have me dead, then pack me off to London in a casket, hein? The English — they are plotters a la merveille. Ban. I shall go to my death with a will, as you say. Monsieur, I applaud you.”
It required only the addition of Nell Rivers to the cart, as principal mourner for her dead husband; Frank's note of explanation for the delivery of LaForge to the home of our brother, Henry, in Brompton; and a second note of introduction vouching for the Frenchman's probity, to Henry's acquaintance Lord Moira, who might be depended upon to convey LaForge to the First Lord.[29]
“I shall be off to nab old Giles directly,” said the Bosun's Mate, and fixed his cap upon his head.
My brother paid him the courtesy of a bow. “I could wish there were more men of fibre like yourself, Mr. Hawkins, as yet in the Royal Navy. We are greatly in need of your wit and courage — and greatly in your debt.”
“Now, then,” said Mr. Hawkins sternly, as though Frank were an errant Young Gendeman, “none of that misty palaver. I'll have Giles bring the cart round the back of Wool House, and carry the coffin inside; he has nobbut to do but poke a few holes in the sides, so that the mon-sewer don't stifle, and we'll all be right as rain.”
I COULD NOT BEAR TO PART FROM MY CONSPIRATORS before the conclusion of such a business, and thus found myself at home as late as nine o'clock. My mother had retired with a hot posset, but poor Mary was as yet abroad and beside herself with apprehension on her husband's part. When the door to Mrs. Davies's establishment opened to reveal only myself, the poor girl nearly fainted from fretted nerves.
“Where is Frank?” she implored, and clutched at Martha Lloyd's arm for support.
“He is making the rounds of the taverns,” I told her, “in the company of Mr. Hill, the naval surgeon, and is no doubt better fed than I. Has Jenny retired for the evening?”
“Taverns!”
“There has been a fire, Mary, on a hulk moored in Southampton Water, and Mr. Hill fears the loss of one of his patients.” We had determined among ourselves that if the ruse of LaForge's death was to bear weight, it must be supported in the bosom of our family as well as in the town. “The Frenchman who gave testimony at Captain Seagrave's trial is believed lost in the sea. Frank is conversing with all and sundry in an effort to learn of the unfortunate man's fate.”
“Good God!” ejaculated Frank's wife. “Shall we never be free of that wretched affair? Tom Seagrave is gone to gaol, and still my husband will not accept his guilt. Hang Tom Seagrave, I say, and be done!”
“Come and lie down, Mary,” interposed Martha gently. “You should have been abed long since. I believe, Jane, that Mrs. Davies left a little bread and soup on the kitchen hearth; you might enquire for your supper.” And with a speaking look for me, my friend led Mary firmly towards the stairs.
FRANK DID NOT RETURN UNTIL WELL NIGH ELEVEN o'clock, when I was tucked up in bed with the candle already snuffed; I heard the low murmur of conversation as he entered the adjoining room, and knew that Mary had enjoyed little rest in the interval. I was very warm, exceedingly comfortable, and shockingly sleepy — but spared a thought for Etienne LaForge, shut up in an oak box with handsome brass handles, and freezing, no doubt, on his way to London. His coffin was worth all of six pounds, seven shillings, eight pence, Giles Sawyer had assured us; and as holes had been bored in the sides, thus rendering the coffin useless, my brother and Mr. Hill had felt compelled to recompense the man. They paid him as well for the loan of his waggon, the use of his horse, and several hours' cold journey north to London; no small sum for either Frank or the surgeon. Such are the sacrifices of gentlemen for King and Country. I hoped that Monsieur LaForge should survive the trip: it would be a wretched joke indeed, if the coffin-lid were removed to reveal a corpse.
SUNDAY MORNING, AND ALL THE BUSTLE OF SERVICE AT St. Michael's, our parish of preference — it is close enough to Castle Square to prove an easy walk, once we are established in that house. My mother, upon observing that the day should be fine, determined to mark the Sabbath by quitting her bed. She rose in good time to accompany us into St. Michael's Square, where I had the pleasure of hearing a sermon neither too long nor too bombastic, and of meeting afterwards with Mr. Hill in the vestibule.
The surgeon appeared much refreshed, and remarkably jovial for a man so recently bereaved of a patient.
“Has your brother told you, Miss Austen, of our excellent luck last evening?” he enquired, in a voice lowered for the benefit of the milling crowd. “After touring the public rooms of the Dolphin, the George, the Star, and the Coach and Horses, we chanced to meet with Sir Francis Farnham himself, sitting over sherry in the Vine. We informed him, in the most lowering tone imaginable, of the loss of our former patient — which intelligence we had confirmed from the stories everywhere circulating, at the inns aforementioned—”
“—and which you had published in the first part yourselves. Well done!” I cried, and then subsided at a glance of curiosity from Frank's Mary. “And how did the gentleman take the news?”
“He said all that was proper — declared himself shocked at the poor conditions of the prison hulk— lamented the fate of two other Frenchmen, who had died of the fire before it was put out — and announced that the remainder should be exchanged to France tomorrow or Tuesday at the latest. In a word, Sir Francis conducted himself as a cunning rogue might be expected to do.”
“That is very well,” I mused, “for he must consider himself safe. Once LaForge's intelligence is known at the Admiralty, however, he shall begin to be afraid— and in his actions then, may show his hand.”
“Such an event is what we must hope for,” said Mr. Hill gravely, “because I do not think we can expect to expose Sir Francis in any other way. He professed himself determined to quit Southampton on the morrow; we must rely upon his betraying himself in London.”
“Mr. Hill,” said Frank, with a clap on the surgeon's shoulder, “I intend to visit my friend, Tom Seagrave, in Gaoler's Alley this morning; should you like to bear me company?”
“Gaoler's Alley?” cried Mary, with a look of pique. “But it is Sunday, Frank! Cannot you sit quietly at home, and work a little on the drawing-room fringe?”
“Sunday is a day for charity, Mary — and one must behave like a Christian to all of God's reprobates,” Frank said genially. “The loss of Seagrave's principal witness in the hulk last evening has put his defence in question. I should dearly love Mr. Hill's advice and counsel — and I know that Tom should be comforted by any appearance of interest in his case.”
“Then by all means take Jane,” urged my mother, with a friendly nod for Mr. Hill. She was devising a match, I little doubted, between myself and the aging surgeon; like a boy who would shoot fish in a barrel, my mother cannot be in the presence of a single gentleman of any age without hitting upon a marriage. “You cannot keep Jane at home, when there is a gaol or an inquest to be had. I daresay Mr. Hill is exactly the same. It is wonderful, is it not, how alike two strangers' hearts may be? Jane was always such a charitable girl — quite a slave to the sick and downtrodden! She should have made an excellent wife in Bengal, I always said, for they have a vast amount of beggars there. I urged her once to consider a bride-ship — Mr. Austen's sister took passage in one, you know, and was so fortunate as to marry a surgeon! — but Jane could not be persuaded.”[30]
“Quite right,” said Mr. Hill with a twinkle. “Such a jewel should settle for nothing less than a true physician.” And then he bowed.
GAOLER'S ALLEY DEBOUCHES FROM THE HIGH, FOUR streets below St. Michael's Square. For our achievement of the small prison was required but a few moments' exertion; the sharp air of a bright March morning hastened our steps and brought animation to our looks. Frank swung along as though the breeze tugging at his cockade was fresh from a thousand frigates' sails, while Mr. Hill offended the Sabbath by whistling between his teeth. We were all, I believe, feeling chuffed by our success at spiriting LaForge from beneath the gaze of a murderer; and even the sight of the low-roofed Norman building, with its narrow slits of windows, could not dampen our spirits.
I am no stranger to your modest house of incarceration, having visited no less a prison than Newgate in my time; I have entered the gaols of Lyme and Bath, and glimpsed the exterior of Canterbury's. Though I should never traipse through the dungeons of the Kingdom for a fee, as many a fashionable lady presently does, and call it a lark and a dissipation — I can find no shame in cheering an intimate of the gaol when the occasion arises.
Frank approached the heavy wooden door and peered through a small window barred in iron. “Halloo there, Constable,” he cried. “You have visitors for Captain Seagrave.”
“Captain Seagrave be presently entertaining a visitor, sir,” called a voice laconically from within. “Ye shall have to cool your heels a bit until the lady is done.”
“It must be Louisa,” muttered Frank. “I thought her unlikely to condescend to such a duty. Perhaps her humours are under amendment.”
He stepped back from the doorway and clasped his gloved hands together.
“Were it not Sunday, I should suggest a cup of chocolate at a pastry shop in the High,” said Mr. Hill. “The sun, though bright, quite fails to quell the bite of the cold. Are you well, Miss Austen?”
I had parted my lips to reply, when a rustle at the iron-barred door brought all our heads around. The oak was thrust back and a figure appeared — a woman clothed in black, with a veil about her face. She stepped out into the alley and nodded in acknowledgement of ourselves, but made no attempt to converse.
Phoebe Carruthers.
In another instant she had turned into the High, her carriage superb and her hands encased in a black fur muff. We watched her go in silence.
The First Lord of the Admiralty to whom Jane refers was Thomas Grenville. Lord Moira was a client of Henry Austen's bank — and his failure to repay substantial loans later contributed to Henry Austen's bankruptcy. — Editor's note.
Mrs. George Austen refers to her sister-in-law, Philadelphia Austen Hancock, who went out to India in 1752 for the express purpose of finding a husband among the employees of the Honourable East India Company. Philadelphia was the mother of Jane's sister-in-law, Eliza de Feuillide. — Editor's note.